


One for the Road

by seljabyr



Category: Yuri!!! on Ice (Anime)
Genre: Arctic Monkeys lyrics, Dancing, Denial of Feelings, Falling In Love, First Dates, First Love, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Friendship/Love, Having feelings and not knowing what they are, Love, M/M, Mutual Pining, Pining, warm feelings
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-05-28
Updated: 2017-05-28
Packaged: 2018-11-02 21:56:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,280
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10953507
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seljabyr/pseuds/seljabyr
Summary: Yuri doesn’t understand how Otabek got stuck in his head like song lyrics, or why his heart skips a beat at the sight of him, or what to say about the heat between them.Because Yuri Plisetsky has never fallen in love before.





	One for the Road

The wind bit through the thin fabric of Yuri Plisetsky’s hoodie, but he wasn't bothered by the icy touch. April in St. Petersburg was quick to warm, but the breeze still carried a whisper of winter. He waited against a sun-baked wall, his shoulders and elbows pressed into the brick. He managed to slouch, with one foot wedged behind him and his body arching. It was ten something in the morning, and the busy street before him was nothing but background noise.

He knew he should have met him at the airport.

Sure, the flight was early, but he was used to being up before the sun. He would have been able to help him navigate, to find his hotel, but _no_ , Otabek had to do it on his own: it was part of the “experience.”

Despite himself, he _tcch_ ed at no one in particular and shifted to pull his phone out of his pocket. 10:26. Otabek said he’d be here 26 minutes ago.

His first thought: _he’s lost_.  
His second thought: _Beka, you idiot.  
_ His third thought: _Yuri, you God damned_ idiot. 

He had very nearly resigned himself to needing to rescue the Kazakh skater from the depths of the city where he had undoubtedly wandered, when a quick scan of the crowd revealed a glimpse of his first true friend. His chest tightened at the sight of Otabek, his leather jacket and dark sunglasses exuding effortless cool.

He didn’t know why but for a moment there, it felt like the breath had been knocked out of him. Instead, he shook his head, took a deep breath, and erupted from the wall with a wide smile.

“Otabek!”

The aforementioned snapped towards his name, stopping in his tracks to seek the source. His face softened when he found Yuri running towards him, and he opened his arms in greeting to the blond. Yuri stumbled into the hug clumsily, but he wrapped his arms around Otabek’s chest regardless. Otabek smelled sweet and woodsy, a complex mixture of vanilla and pine, and his body was warmer than Yuri’d expected, heated by his brisk walk from the tram stop. He felt strangely light headed as he stepped away.

“Good morning, Yura. I’m sorry that I’m late.”

Yuri rolled his eyes. “That’s what you get for taking public transport. I told you I’d pay for a taxi.”

“And I told you: taking the bus, driving yourself. That’s how you get to know a city, to feel like a local.”

Yuri had to refrain from rolling his eyes again. He clamped them shut and tried to figure out why his head was swimming. What did he last eat? Could he remember? “Okay, yeah, you want to be Russian for a week, I get it. But how about we get some breakfast? I know a great place around here.”

“Sounds like a plan.” The blond wasn’t expecting Otabek to reach for his arm, and he was surprised to feel fingers wrap around his wrist. “It’s really good to see you again.”

The world renowned gold medalist, known for his flawless execution of even the most difficult jumps, somehow stammered his way through, “It’s really good to see you, too,” before leading the way to a nearby diner.

This had to be because his blood sugar was so low. That was the only explanation that made any sense. They navigated the crowd and made their way down the street.

***

They sat at a small table near the tall windows, so Otabek could have a clear view of the bustling street below them. Yuri remembered how much the other man enjoyed people watching, and found himself searching for that ghost of smile that indicated Beka was pleased. The waitress left menus, and they both ordered coffees before she walked away.

“Do you need cream with those?” She asked. Yuri started to shake his head, but Otabek raised a decisive hand.

“Yes, please.”

“I thought you liked your coffee black?” It was more of a statement than a question; for some reason, Yuri distinctly remembered Otabek’s exact order at the cafe they’d visited in Barcelona, and he definitely had not asked for milk then.

“I do, but I know you don’t.”

Yuri felt his cheeks flush and he shook his bangs into his face in an attempt to hide the light pink tint that was spreading at Beka’s comment. _What is happening to me?_ He wondered to himself, looking away from his Kazakh companion and focusing instead on the brunette waitress, who was returning with two steaming ceramic mugs and a tiny carafe of cream that she set in front of them. Beka was still flipping through the menu, so she told them she would be back in a few minutes for their orders.

“What do you usually get here?”

“What?” He had been too busy watching his cream swirl into the depths of his coffee. “Oh, uhm, the pirozhki here is really good.”

Otabek’s voice sounded soft and sunny when he simply responded with, “Of course, I should have known.”

Yuri’s ears felt hot.

He ignored it.

When the waitress returned, they both ordered a variety of the fried buns, each with a different filling, then sat in silence for a moment. After a pause, they both moved to speak in the same instant. Yuri laughed awkwardly.

“I was just going to ask what you wanted to do today.” He sipped his coffee, relishing in the silky sweetness of it. Sugary coffee was a luxury, one he couldn’t often afford, and he savored the experience.

“I want to see what you want to show me.” Otabek said over his cup.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” Yuri started drumming his fingers against the handle of his mug, unsure of how he felt about where this conversation was going. He had planned on just taking Beka to the sites he wanted to see, not having to come up with the tour on his own.

“Show me the parts of St. Petersburg that matter to you. That’s what I want to see.” Nightmare confirmed. Yuri sighed.

“ _Are you fucking kidding me_!?” This command felt like something Viktor would ask him to do, some emotional exercise that was supposed to connect him with a deeper part of himself and it was, quite frankly, not what he was looking forward to when he woke up with that phantom pit in his stomach.

Remaining silent, Otabek only raised his eyebrows, but Yuri could hear imagine his low voice saying “ _Yura_.” The other man didn’t need to say anything for him to know that he was, in fact, not kidding him.

He bit his cheek hard to keep from swearing further. Deep breath in, deep breath out. “I don’t understand. Do you want to see the rink? My house?”

Otabek shrugged in response. “If that’s what you want.”

Yuri rubbed a hand over his face, dragging it down to his neck, before crossing it over his chest so his fingers could curl around his shoulder. He sat quiet for a moment, his expression unreadable, and thought.

“Fine. I’m sure I can think of a few places to show you,” and when he saw Otabek’s eyebrows raising again, added, “I _know_ I can, I’ve thought of some already.”

Beka flashed the briefest of smiles. “Good.”

There was that feeling again, like a rock in his ribcage. But in the next beat of his racing heart, the waitress arrived with their steaming buns. Yuri didn’t bother to let them cool before biting into the crisp, golden dough, but pretended that the beef filling didn’t burn his tongue.

See? He was great at pretending he didn’t feel things. Nothing easier. He could pretend this didn’t hurt, like he could make up that he had thought of places he _cared_ about, just like he could ignore the flips his stomach was doing.

Nothing easier.

***

Turns out, not as easy as the teenager had anticipated.

His mouth still burned from molten meat, and he was leading Otabek down streets and up alleys aimlessly in an effort to buy time, to jog a memory. And during all of it, that cloudy feeling in his head still hadn’t dissipated, and his heart still hammered an uneven song against his sternum. The food hadn’t helped. If anything, it seemed to make matters worse in some mysterious way.

Yuri had never had a friend before. Well, not really. He knew people, of course. It often felt like he could never get away from people. But just knowing people wasn’t enough, because he didn’t feel like he could talk to any of them, not about his _thoughts_. At least, not until Otabek.

Before him, people were rivals or deadweight. With him, there was a third category: friend.

Which, obviously, was why he felt so fucking weird. Because he had never been in this situation before, had never been just casually hanging out with someone in the city he calls home. It had been different in Barcelona, when the entire city was new to both of them. This felt more… intimate.

The thought made him shudder, which he fought to hide from Otabek. No, he wouldn’t falter. He would find places in this city he wanted to share. He just had to think harder.

From behind him, “Yura, where are we going?”

“You’ll see,” He growled back, stopping to look at the street signs on the corner they came upon. It took a second to recognize them, but when he did, his eyes lit up with fire. These were the literal signs he needed to give him an idea. He grabbed Otabek by the sleeve and tugged him in the direction of the Fontanka river. It was 10 minutes away, maybe more, but at least he could think of a good enough story for this one.

***

Otabek wasn’t sure what to expect when he made his request to Yuri.

It was true that he preferred to experience a place more as a local than a tourist, and it was also true that he wanted to see the St. Petersburg that Yuri knew more than what the guidebooks suggested. But he knew that the other boy wasn’t going to love the idea, and he honestly wasn’t sure how he’d react. He’d anticipated a bigger fight, and had even prepared further arguments for why this was definitely the best thing they could do.

So when Yuri largely accepted his fate as de facto tour guide, he was taken off guard.

Though, as he trailed him through the city, it became obvious that the blond had accepted the challenge without thinking it through, and in the 45 minutes they’d been walking, Otabek started to get the feeling that, perhaps, they weren’t going anywhere in particular. Yuri seemed to be looking for inspiration in every passing advertisement, until something he saw sparked his attention.

Beka wasn’t sure the Russian was even aware of the way his shoulders perked when he was excited, but he was more than cognizant of the curve they created. And as he tugged him down the street, he couldn’t help but watch his golden locks bounce around the peaks of his shoulders.

As they approached the river bank, Otabek could spy a spiked fence framing an island across the water. The wind felt colder here, and he adjusted his black scarf to cover more skin. Yuri picked up the pace when the island came into view, and they were walking briskly over the bridge in the direction of the black and gold-tipped metal. They passed the ornate gates, propped open to welcome the public, and entered the summer garden. Once inside, Yuri seemed to be able to relax.

They followed the tree lined gravel path until they came upon a collection of Grecian inspired statues, some of their white marble stained black with age. Otabek slowed to take in every individual statue, and Yuri seemed content to let him take his time with the figures.

“Why did you take me here?” Otabek had hoped that Yuri would volunteer to tell him what brought them here, but he was learning that, sometimes, the younger man needed to be coaxed into opening up.

Yuri crossed his arms. “It reminds me of that garden in Barcelona.”

“Park Güell?”

“Yeah, where…” he shifted his weight from boot to boot, “where you asked me to be your friend.”

Otabek scanned the surrounding scenery. It was beautiful, forested and green, a refuge from the city just across the water-- but it was nothing like the surrealist dreamscape that was Guadi’s Garden.

Yuri seemed to pick up on Otabek’s confusion, and continued. “I know it doesn’t look anything like that place, but it’s the closest we have here in St. Petersburg, and that’s… well, that day is one of my favorite memories. So any place that makes me think of it feels like a good place.”

Otabek stood still for a beat, before placing his palm on Yuri’s shoulder. “I like that, but it’s so beautiful here I think it’s only right we make new memories just for the summer garden.” He pulled his MP3 player out of his pocket and offered Yuri an earbud. “First, we’ll need a fitting soundtrack.” He scrolled through the track list as if he didn’t have a song in mind, but unlike Yuri, he wasn’t making this up as he went along. You see, Otabek had a plan. Even though his visit to Russia was mostly business related, he’d managed to stretch a layover in St. Petersburg into an overnight visit. They had kept in touch since Barcelona, sure, and they had seen each other at the Worlds, but texts and the occasional phone call paled in comparison to being in the actual physical presence of someone he thought about constantly.

Yuri Plisetsky had been on his mind since he was twelve and he had met the ten-year-old at Yakov’s training camp. Otabek was not an envious person. He did not believe in wasting the time or energy on jealousy. But that had not always been the case. Meeting Yuri, seeing how effortlessly he was able to bend, it was hard to watch the naturally limber blond and not be in awe of his flexibility and grace. As a child he had a difficult time deciphering if he wanted to be his best friend, or simply _be_ him, and the twinge of inadequacy he felt had spurred his decision to pursue skating on his own terms. When he realized there was no use in wishing that he could hold himself with the same poise and elegance, he was able to see the more human facets of Yuri, to notice how hard his eyes were at only ten.

He knew five years ago that Yuri had not lived an easy life, that he had been forced to develop such a hard exterior at such a tender age. Even if he could plié and pirouette and arch and pointe and Otabek couldn’t, his green eyes were sharp like broken glass, and Otabek knew that the adolescent had made sacrifices, ones that he himself wasn’t willing to make.

But he _was_ here to take risks, and that was exactly what he intended to do. Yuri watched him expectantly as he pressed play.

The drums came in as a deep breath, balanced by a heartbeat, slow but unmistakable. After one pulse, dreamy guitar fell into the intro. The song sounded somewhat beachy, but the notes were too drawn out, somehow sad and distant. Some rock ballad Yuri hadn’t heard before, so he wasn’t expecting the thick British accent when the lyrics started almost 20 seconds into the song: _I wanna be your vacuum cleaner, breathing in your dust._

He caught Otabek’s eye and raised an eyebrow, as if to ask _what the fuck are we listening to?_

Instead of explaining, he gestured down the path, as if to say _why don’t we keep walking?_

And so Yuri did, Otabek falling into step beside him, shoulder-to-shoulder to accommodate the earbuds. They went with their hands in their respective coat pockets, wordless.

In a matter of seconds, Otabek knew, the chorus would start. What he did not know, however, was whether or not Yuri would be listening. He wondered if Yuri could feel his heart beating through his jacket, if it was hammering hard enough to be felt where their shoulders met. It began.

_Secrets I have held in my heart are harder to hide than I thought. Maybe I just wanna be yours? I wanna be yours, I wanna be yours, I wanna be yours._

He watched Yuri from the corner of his eye for any sign that he understood why he picked this song, why he asked him to show him around, why he was here _at all_. But if the blond got it, he didn’t give Otabek any inclination, his clover-colored eyes focused straight ahead.

Otabek fought back the urge to sigh. This wasn’t exactly going as planned.

***

_Sometimes, it’s easier for me to talk through music._

As soon as he suggested having a soundtrack, Yuri recalled the text Otabek had sent him weeks earlier, during a discussion about what influenced Otabek as a DJ, why he liked doing it, and that had been one of many messages sent between them that night. He couldn’t get the words out of his head as Otabek handed him the earbud, and he had to wonder: was he saying something with this? Or just sharing a favorite song?

And _why_ did he feel so _electric_ when the song stated “I wanna be yours,” why did thinking about Otabek and the possibility of “secrets” make his pulse jump?

He had never felt like this before. He couldn’t even look at him, worried that Otabek would be able to see his inner turmoil, though even that confused him. What was he scared he’d see?

“There are fountains we can look for,” Yuri said, mostly because he felt he had to say something, or else he might burst.

“Hmm.”

“Unless there’s something else you’d like to see?” The question was snappier than he intended, his teeth clenched in an effort to keep the butterflies in his stomach from escaping.

His companion was silent, and in his voiceless reply Yuri finally realized the name for his strange affliction: he was _nervous_ . From the moment he woke up that morning he’d been experiencing nerves, almost unrecognizable outside scarce incidents while competing. Naming the emotion caused it to flip his stomach, because though it answered _what_ , it did not explain _why_ meeting up with his first and best friend gave him stagefright.

He gulped. His skin prickled with the awareness that he wasn’t acting normally, but it was almost like he’d forgotten how to be himself. _God damn it, Yuri,_ he yelled at himself, _say something! There were so many stupid things you couldn’t wait to talk to him about, what are you doing?_

He took a breath to speak, but froze with his lungs filled. For the first time ever, he was worried about sounding stupid. He spiralled mentally until Otabek broke the silence.

“ _I wanna be yours_ ,” he said inexplicably.

Yuri whipped his head around so fast, he pulled the earbud free. It fell from his ear to hang between him and Otabek, swaying like a pendulum.

“ _What_!?”

“The song.” Otabek grabbed the earbud by the cord and held it out to Yuri. “ _I Wanna Be Yours_ by the Arctic Monkeys. I thought you might want to know.” He held the Russian’s green eyes for a second before looking away, but Yuri could swear that he saw a flash of disappointment in that moment.

The title was being sung on repeat when he jammed the tiny speaker back into his ear, and the sentence made him feel like he was standing too close to a campfire.

“I like it,” he muttered. He let his hand drop to his side, and as they walked, his knuckles brushed against Beka’s. The touch was featherlight, yet he couldn’t be more aware of the contact. He tried to swallow the lump in his throat, but to no avail. They continued down the path.

They walked in silence, and though it wasn’t uncomfortable, Yuri almost felt like it should be. Wasn’t it supposed to be weird to hang out with someone and not talk? But with Otabek, the quiet air shared between them felt natural. The music shuffled to another song on the album, and he found himself nodding along with the tune, making a mental note to look the band up when he got home.

Before long, they came across one of the fountains Yuri had mentioned, only this one was absolutely taken overrun by an excited flock of ducks. As they got closer they noticed an elderly couple throwing bits of lettuce to the noisy birds, sending them into fits as they fought over the greens. The fur-clad woman, dressed as if it was still the depths of December, tossed a wilted leaf into the water, and a half-dozen ducks descended on it in a flurry of feathers and quacking. At least one green headed mallard took a webbed foot to the face as they scurried to nip a piece of the salad, and the scene made Yuri burst into laughter.

“This is too good,” he managed, “they’re so stupid!”

Otabek, realizing that he would do anything to make Yuri laugh like that, tugged the earbud out of Yuri’s ear with a flick of his wrist, and approached the couple. They looked old enough to be his grandpa’s parents, and greeted him as if he were their great-grandson who happened to chance upon them while they enjoyed an afternoon in the park. He addressed them politely in Russian, though Yuri couldn’t make out the words over the sound of the fountain. He strained to catch a fragment of their conversation.

He could see Otabek pointing at the head of lettuce, and the woman smiling as she slowly ripped yellow-green leaves off the globe with frail hands before handing them to his dark-haired friend. Beka thanked them generously before turning on his heel and marching back to Yuri.

“Here,” he held the lettuce out to Yuri, who looked first from his hand, then to his eyes, and back again.

“What do you expect me to do with that?”

“Feed the ducks.”

The suggestion made Yuri double over, and through his laughter he managed to choke out, “Seriously, dude?”

“Seriously.” He ripped a leaf in half and flung it on the ground in front of him, flinching away from the dirty slush the ducks kicked up in their scuffle.

Still laughing, Yuri reached for the lettuce, then promptly began shredding it like confetti, throwing fistfuls of wet leaves to the flock. The ensuing chaos was enough to spur on another fit of giggling.

“Okay,” he started, wiping an errant tear from his eye, “this is pretty great, I’ll give you that.” He crouched down and offered the nearest bird a leafy treat straight from his hand, his eyes sparkling in that relaxed, enthused way Otabek craved to see.

After feeding the ducks for a few minutes, they agreed to return the remaining lettuce to the couple they borrowed it from. Before Otabek could take the plant back, Yuri leapt through the group of ducks that had accumulated in front of them, gracefully stepping up onto the rim of the fountain.

He held the head of lettuce in the palm of his outstretched hand, using it like a ball as he lifted his leg up and straight out behind him. He posed like that for a moment before tossing the lettuce straight into the air. His leg swung him into a little spin, and he caught the lettuce in both hands without looking.

He flashed Beka a cocky smile before finishing the short walk around the fountain to where the woman and her husband were still waiting. They were delighted by his short performance, and he indulged them with a small bow. Otabek was sure that, if it had been anyone other than him and the couple at this particular fountain, Yuri would be reluctant to call any kind of attention to himself. But it would seem that, despite the surprisingly pleasant weather and the fact that his friend was an idol among Russia’s youth, they were granted a rare opportunity of near solitude.

And, perhaps due to this privacy, Yuri felt compelled to show off a bit. He brought his hands in front of his chest, his arms forming a full circle in front him, fingertips lined up. A slight plié lead into an incredibly well formed pirouette, his ankle crossed just below his knee as he turned. On the completed rotation, he jumped with his grounded foot, twisting in the air, and landed on his previously bent leg.

The little maneuver had been carried out with grace until he tried to plant his other foot beside his first. This was a move he had only done in flats before, and with his thick-soled boots he had a harder time sensing where the slippery surface actually was. As he shifted his weight he realized too late that he was standing too close to the edge. He yelped as he slid off the side towards the muddy ground.

In the next moment, Otabek’s wide hands were on him, one catching him by the waist, the other supporting his weight just beneath his shoulder blade. He used his hold on the blond’s chest to keep him from slipping further, but the height difference forced Yuri to lean against Otabek’s shoulder with his hips.

It couldn’t have been more than a second or two, but it felt like time almost froze in the moment Yuri felt Beka’s hands on his body. He blushed deeply, even his collarbones blotching red, and recoiled in embarrassment-- not only had he fucking _slipped_ , but he slipped into _Otabek’s arms_. But his overreaction only succeeded in him launching him off of Otabek and into the fountain. He was able to clumsily catch his balance as he fell, and instead of hitting the water ass-first, he stepped back into it, the freezing pool coming up to his knees, submerging his boots completely.

He started yelling as soon as his skin came into contact with the icy water, a growl tearing from his throat as his shoes flooded. His eyes clenched shut with shame, unwilling to meet Otabek’s concerned gaze.

“WHAT THE _FUCK_ GOD _DAMN IT_ HOW DID THIS _HAPPEN?!_ ” He stamped his foot angrily, splashing water farther up his legs, which sent another wave of anger through his body.

“Yura.” Otabek’s voice was soft, and when Yuri finally found the courage to look at the other man, he was holding his hand out for the blond to take.

Yuri eyed him for a moment, looking both furious and shy, before grabbing his hand and allowing Beka to help pull him out of the fountain.

“Are you okay?”

“Does bruised pride count?” Otabek shook his head. “Then yes, I am fucking fine.” He flinched when he swore, realizing how he'd spat the word out.

“You’re soaked.”

“Just my legs.” He shifted his weight and felt the water in his shoes squish between his toes, though he was trying hard not to pull a face at the uncomfortable sensation.

“We need to get you changed into dry clothes.”

“I said _I’m fine_. It’s just some water-- drop it.” But he could already feel the cold pricking at his skin, and the fabric of his dark-wash jeans clinging to his shins felt like tiny ice crystals where it made contact. He shuddered, but tried to hide it. He did not do a good job.

“How close is your house to here?” Otabek clasped Yuri above the elbows, and the Russian felt compelled to both lean into the contact and push the other man away.

Conflicted, his emotions bubbled out of him again, and he snapped back with, “ _My_ house is in _Moscow_ ,” cringing as soon as he said it. Otabek did not seem phased by the comment, his chocolate eyes still holding concern for Yuri and his wet clothes.

“Where is the closest place we can get you a change of clothing? Can I buy you some?”

Yuri shook his head, hair falling into his eyes as he protested the question immediately. “No no no, Lilia’s studio is not far from here. Maybe 5 or 6 blocks? There should be something for me to wear there.”

“Take us there.” He released Yuri’s arms, and after looking him up and down for a moment, untied his scarf from around his neck and looped it gingerly around the blond’s.

“What are you doing?” Yuri watched him from under his furrowed brows, but made no move to stop him. Otabek shared the slightest smile.

“I warmed it up for you.”

Blushing again, Yuri stumbled into motion, trying desperately to hide his red cheeks. He nuzzled into soft cotton and inhaled deeply.

Beka wasn’t positive, but he thought he heard Yuri mutter _thanks_ as he stomped away.

***

Even with the addition of the scarf, Yuri was shivering sporadically by the time they made it out of the park.

By block one, his shivering had become nearly constant.

By block two, his teeth were chattering over the smooth pop-rock sound of the Arctic Monkeys.

By block three, Otabek decided enough was enough.

“Yuri.”

The stubborn blond kept walking, his arms crossed in frigid determination.

“Yuri,” Otabek repeated. Again, the other boy did not turn around.

“ _Yuri._ ” On his third attempt, Beka reached for Yuri’s sleeve and pulled him to a stop. “Take my jacket.”

“I’m used to the cold,” but his voice faltered as he spoke. No matter how he tried to disguise it, he was _freezing_. Clouds had blown in and were blotting out the sun, and the wind that brought them was chillier than the wisps he’d felt during the bright morning. He didn’t understand how getting less than half of his body wet could have such a profound effect on his overall temperature, but there was no denying that he was having a hard time coping.

“I insist.”

“No, I’m not going--” but Otabek was already removing his leather jacket, “ _no_ , keep it, I don’t want it.” Beka frowned.

“I want to help.”

“It’s my bottom half that’s cold, so unless you have a secret pair of pants you’ve been hiding, the only way you can help me here is by walking faster.”

“Or you can get on my back.”

“How would that help?!”

Otabek pointed at his feet. “You could wrap your legs around my waist. They might warm up.”

“That’s stupid.”

Beka shrugged. “Thought I’d suggest it.”

“There’s no way that’d work, and even if it did, there’s no way I would do it!”

“That’s fine. But if you change your mind.”

“I won’t.”

But by block four, Yuri had decided that enough was _enough_. He had never been so affected by the cold before, and he didn’t know if the trembling he was experiencing could be blamed entirely on his accidental bath, or if the weird emotions he’d been struggling to identify were to blame. He stopped in the middle of the sidewalk, looked up and down the street, decided it was empty enough and, without turning to face Otabek, said “Fine, I’ll do it.”

“Do what?”

Yuri shot him a look, curling his lip into a snarl. “ _I’ll let you carry me._ ”

Wordlessly, Otabek walked in front of Yuri, his back facing him. The earbud was once again pulled from the blond’s ear as Beka moved into position, crouching to let Yuri climb onto him, though he made no move to do so.

After a few moments, Otabek turned to face him. “Come on, the longer you stand there, the colder you’ll be.”

Yuri fidgeted with his fingers for a second longer before making a show of rolling his eyes and finally closing the gap between him and Beka. He draped his arms over his shoulders and hopped up, bringing his legs around Otabek’s waist, sitting with his thighs on the crests of his hips. In response, Otabek hooked his elbows around Yuri’s legs, clasping his hands together behind his knees, and brought them close to his body.

He could feel Yuri’s hot breath against his neck, raising goosebumps.

The other boy clung to him loosely, holding his hands in front of Otabek’s collarbones. He could feel Beka speak as he said, “Tell me if you’re ever uncomfortable.”

Yuri didn’t respond, so Otabek stood straight and started walking quickly in the direction of Lilia’s ballet studio. He tried not to think about how his heart thundered, tried to focus on getting his friend in a warm building and fresh pants. But the awareness of his chest pressed flat against his back was very distracting. The smell of Yuri’s shampoo was intoxicating, somewhat sweet and spicy, very much like the individual himself.

The pair felt vaguely awkward until block five, when Yuri finally relaxed against his neck.

By block six, Yuri felt strangely sad when he saw Lilia’s building come into view. He directed Otabek to the studio and ignored the way his heart sank when the other man lowered him to the ground at the front door. Yuri let them in with his key, thankful that Lilia wasn’t here to interrogate him.

He undid his boots and pulled his soaked feet from the puddles that had formed in them. He peeled his socks off, which made an audible _plop_ as they hit the floor.

“I’ll be right back. Feel free to have a look around.” Yuri hurried down the hallway to the locker room where he kept some spare clothing, his feet leaving dainty prints as he went.

He stepped out of his wet pants the moment the locker room door closed behind him and hung them on a hook to dry out. His skin had taken on a bluish tint, and his toes were pruny and numb enough to convince him to strip naked and take a quick shower to warm them up. He ran the water in the stall, waiting for it to become hot enough to steam. Before he entered the shower, he padded back to the locker room door, opening it a crack to shout down the hallway.

“Hey, Beka? I’m going to take a shower, so I’ll be a little longer.” He heard Otabek call back an affirmation, and retreated back to the shower.

The hot water hitting his cold feet made them ache, but if there was one part of his body that was used to taking abuse, it was his feet. He ended the shower after a few minutes, when he felt that he had warmed up enough to return to his friend, and dried off quickly in the stall before holding the towel around his hips and finding the cubby where he kept his stuff during training.

He dug through the sack of clothes he had stashed but couldn’t find the jeans he was almost positive he’d left there. Instead, the only bottoms he found here were his black ballet tights. He sighed. While they definitely weren’t something he’d be willing to leave the studio in, they should suffice long enough for his pants to dry out a bit. To speed up the process, he plugged a hair dryer in and looped the cord around a hook, letting the machine hang next to the wet fabric, and turned it on. He took a step back to admire his handiwork. Sure, there was the slight concern of a fire hazard, but overall he thought his solution to be rather resourceful.

Dressed, he set out to see where Otabek had wandered. He found him gazing out the windows of the dance room, leaning against the barre. While the afternoon remained overcast, Otabek was illuminated by the ambient light trickling into the studio, and Yuri paused in the doorway to admire the way it softened his features. Beka hadn’t yet noticed him, and it afforded Yuri the chance to really look at him.

With his arms crossed, forearms flat against the wood, Otabek watched something Yuri couldn’t see from where he stood. He bent at the waist to rest his elbows on the barre, and his back curved away from the full length windows. He’d taken his jacket off, leaving him dressed in a dark slate, long sleeve shirt and black jeans. Nothing special, but the scene made Yuri’s breath catch. Especially as his eyes followed the slope of Beka’s spine until-- his cheeks flushed.

He sucked his bottom lip between his teeth and bit it hard. Incomplete thoughts flooded his mind: _since when did he-- never had he-- not even when Mila-- why was he still staring at Otabek’s god damned--_

Something in him sparked, like an ember in his guts, and he felt too warm from the inside out. His favorite tiger striped scarf, big enough to pass as a blanket, became suffocating, but the thought of removing it felt strangely vulnerable. In his frustration, the faintest groan escaped his throat.

Otabek turned at the noise, his jaw actually dropping at the sight of Yuri, with his damp hair and pink face.

The silence between them was heavier than before. Yuri couldn’t figure out why the air felt palpable, why he felt compelled to close the distance between them, why his heart fluttered so wildly under Otabek’s honey-brown gaze.

“Want to see something I’ve been working on?” Yuri asked, because he didn’t know what else to say. When Otabek cocked his head in confusion, he gestured across the room with a sweeping motion. “A dance.”

Beka nodded before sitting on the ground, his back pressed against the glass. Yuri walked to the stereo tucked away in a corner cabinet and plugged the auxiliary cord into his phone. He paused for a moment, unwrapping the scarf from his neck and letting it fall to the floor. With his back to Beka, he hit play.

Otabek was shocked to hear the familiar strumming of the Arctic Monkey’s seep through the speakers.

Across the room, he watched Yuri’s shoulders bob in time with the drum beat, his head rolling back in a half circle with the introduction of the guitar, the rhythm working its way down his body until he stepped into the music with pointed toes.

Five years ago, Otabek had decided that ballet wasn’t for him. But Yuri may have changed his mind.

It was clear that the movements had been set to a more classical sound, but the blond did an impressive job adapting them to the soft rock song Beka had shown him. The changes made his dance more improvisational, gave it a more modern feel than ballet, but the sharpness of his angles, the grace in his curves, the precision of every step and turn and roll and point made Beka weak.

On or off the ice, Yuri was always the most irresistible when he was performing. The confidence he exuded as he twisted and jumped was magnetic-- Otabek couldn’t take his eyes off of him.

Halfway through the song, Yuri stretched out a dramatic finish, very similar to the end of Agape, and panted into an anticlimactic standing position in the middle of the room.

“That’s all I have.”

Yuri had barely finished the sentence when Otabek got to his feet, crossed the space between them, and stood directly in front of him. A deep breath rolled his shoulders back, and Yuri mirrored the movement. Their shoulders brushed as they encircled each other, each step on the downbeat, and a new dance unfolded.

Their steps were not intricate, nor were they in unison, but they watched each other, fitting together like instruments. Where Yuri swept in as graceful guitar, Otabek provided stability and momentum like drums.

When he recognized the end was approaching, Beka offered Yuri his hand, and he accepted it, allowing him to guide their movements. He dipped Yuri over one arm, the Russian arching with his hand extended over his head, and marveled at the way he seemed to meld against him.

“What’s our big finale?”

Yuri smirked. “Lift me.”

“How?”

“I’m going to jump, you pick me up by my waist!”

He pulled his hand free from Otabek’s grip and spun away, far enough that he could get a running start. Beka bent his knees in preparation and nodded that he was ready. At the final cooing of _I wanna be yours_ , he was grabbing Yuri just above the hips and lifting him over his head, Yuri’s legs lengthening into the splits, almost as if he were gliding through the air.

That is, until he tripped over himself, and they both came crashing down in a tangled mass of limbs and swearing.

Otabek took the brunt of the fall, managing to keep from throwing Yuri face-first into the vinyl. He rolled off of Beka’s arm, pushing yellow hair out of his eyes.

“Fuck man, we’re clumsy today.”

“We just need practice.”

His heart skipped a beat with the implication that they would try again. “I thought you hated ballet.”

“This doesn’t feel like traditional ballet,” Otabek replied, rubbing the elbow that had absorbed the impact of their fall. “And adding some rock music definitely helps.”

Yuri’s music app shuffled to a random song on the album, and a jazzier baseline filled the room. He recognized it from earlier, when this record became the soundtrack for their park adventure, and he scrambled to his feet to start the song over.

“This one has a harder feel than the first song, but I think we can make it work.” He swiped his phone open and saw the song was _Arabella_ . He restarted it, turning to face Otabek, tapping the tune against his thigh to try to feel out the rhythm, but it was much faster than _I Wanna Be Yours_ and he had a hard time feeling how he could fit his classical training to the variable tune. His movements were too graceful paired with the guitar riffs.

But Beka joining in his clumsy choreography changed things. Yuri laughed when his friend slid into their impromptu rehearsal on his knees, grabbed both of his hands, and broke him out of the strict poses of ballet. This performance featured fewer twirls and far more hair flips, with Otabek showing Yuri his rather convincing air guitar. When the song ended, both boys were laughing.

“Can I make a special request for our next dance?” Asked Beka, and Yuri nodded, making his way to the stereo.

“What do you want to hear?”

“Same album, just the song _Do I Wanna Know?”_

Yuri didn’t recognize the drums that started and wondered out loud if this song had played on their walk, which Otabek informed him hadn’t happened. “Though it is one of my favorites by them. It reminds me of someone.” he explained.

When Yuri got a feel for the timing, he replayed the beginning, turning on his toes when the song started again and taking exaggerated steps towards Otabek, falling into rhythm with the drumbeat, though he found himself distracted by the lyrics. And the comment that there was a person out there that Otabek thought about when he listened to this song.

_Have you got color in your cheeks? Do you ever get that fear that you can’t shift, the type that sticks around like something in your teeth?_

They started dancing again, their movements simple, uncalculated.

_‘Cause there’s this tune I found that makes me think of you somehow, and I play it on repeat._

Otabek watched him with a certain intensity, like maybe he was trying to convey a thought through expression alone.

_Do I wanna know? If this feeling flows both ways?_

Yuri’s heart skipped a beat. The way Beka looked at him during those lines made him wonder.

Beka placed a hand on Yuri’s arm and asked, “How about we try another lift? But with less jumping this time.”

Yuri rolled his eyes, but playfully. “Fine, if you want to take all the fun out of it.”

“You are not the one with the bruised elbow, Yura.”

The comment would have spurred a pang of guilt, if it weren’t for the sugary way Beka said it. “Fuck, okay, good point. What do you want to do?”

_So have you got the guts?_

“Stand straight.”

Yuri squared his shoulders and looked up at Beka, his arms held in second position. Otabek rooted himself, tensing his legs, and then grabbed Yuri by the waist and raised him into the air.

“Oh _shit_ ,” Yuri yelped. He almost lost his balance, but recovered and pushed against Beka’s shoulders to propel himself further, forcing the other man to hug his thighs tight against his body to keep from dropping him.

_Simmer down and pucker up._

Yuri posed with his arms spread out, back bending away from Otabek.

_I’m sorry to interrupt._

He went too far, and Otabek’s grip started to falter--

_It’s just I’m constantly on the cusp--_

\-- and Yuri started to slip through his arms,

_\-- of trying to kiss you._

Yuri’s sweater hiked up as he slid from the lift into a tight hug, Otabek doing everything in his power not to drop him. He succeeded in setting the _premier danseur_ on his feet, but in doing so he had inadvertently placed their faces just inches apart.

_But I don’t know if you feel the same as I do._

Their eyes locked. Yuri’s heart hammered against his ribs, and after a moment he pushed Otabek away, turning on his heels. He started for the door, saying something about leaving the hair dryer on, and had to keep himself from running out of the room.

_We could be together... if you wanted to._

The last line echoed in his skull.

Because, in that moment, he had an almost overwhelming urge to kiss him.

And that thought both terrified and thrilled him.

He skidded into the locker room and slammed the door shut, sliding against the heavy wood and releasing a breath he didn’t know he’d been holding. His heart thudded like a dull kick drum. _What was that?!_ Repeated through his mind. His nervous fingers ran through his hair, and he was almost thankful for the roar of the dryer, drowning out his thoughts.

The butterflies he’d felt all day, that persistent mental fog, his excitable heart, and now this fucking _day dream_ of kissing _Otabek Altin_ on the _fucking mouth_ : what was happening to him?

Why couldn’t he get the smell of the Kazakh skater out of his mind?

How could he still feel the warmth of Otabek’s body against his own?

_What was he doing?!_

He buried his face in his hands and groaned into his palms. He took a long moment alone before absentmindedly putting the hair dryer away and taking his pants down. The hot air had helped, but his pants were still too damp to be comfortable. May as well just bring them back to the dance room and lay them in the minimal sun. He took a deep breath and steeled himself to return to the room he’d left in a panic.

But his heart was still racing.

The hardwood hallway loomed in front of him, and he could almost hear his pulse bouncing off the walls as he walked.

When he entered the dance room, Otabek was sitting on the floor where he’d left him, his phone in his hand. As soon as he looked up, Yuri’s eyes darted to the other man’s lips, and he immediately felt like kicking himself.

“Sorry,” Yuri stated awkwardly, “I, uhm, didn’t want to burn the building down. These still need a little time.”

“We have a little time.”

Yuri shook his pants out and hung them from a coat hook on the back of the door.

“That reminds me: when do you have to go back to your hotel?” He grabbed his scarf from where he had abandoned it in the corner and wrapped it around his neck as he plopped down beside Otabek.

“My flight leaves at 5, so I should be there around 2 to be safe. I’d like to get a little sleep, so I shouldn’t stay too late.”

Yuri fidgeted with the sleeves of his brown sweater, pulling them down over his fingers. “What do you want to do after this?”

“Dinner, but some place nice.”

“I might know a place.” He pointed at Beka’s phone, “It’s an Asian-European fusion place that I’ve been to with Yakov. I remember it being kind of fancy.”

“Sounds perfect.”

Neither of them mentioned the moment they had shared during their dance, how the closeness had felt more than physical. Instead, they talked about skating routines, aspirations for their careers on the ice, which eventually turned to gossip about their fellow competitors. Yuri caught Otabek up on the life and times of Viktor and Katsudon, a conversation he enjoyed having more than he cared to admit. Though he liked to talk them down, he had come to regard the couple as a kind of parental unit, and he confessed this to Beka.

“Though being around them is sometimes too much to handle.”

“Why is that?”

“Are you kidding me? They are constantly _all over_ each other, Viktor never shuts up about his _little piggy_.”

“They were lucky to find each other.”

“They don’t have to be so fucking gross about it.” He paused for a moment. “Have you ever been in love?”

Otabek nodded. “Yes.”

Yuri wasn’t sure what he was expecting, but it definitely wasn’t for Beka to respond so quickly and concretely. “Oh... What.. did it feel like?”

The dark haired man leaned back on his palms, his head tilted. “It’s like… having a fever, like being sick _for_ them. Thinking about them all the time, what they’re doing. Hoping that every text or message is from them. Imagining what it will be like when you see them again.” He stopped to think, eyes fixed on Yuri. “Sometimes it feels like your head is full of water, or your heart is going to burst.”

“Like stagefright.” Yuri all but whispered.

“Yeah, I suppose. Nervous but excited, happy yet scared.”

“Did… do they love you back?”

“I don’t know,” Otabek shrugged.

“What? Why not?”

“I never told them.”

Yuri shot up. “ _Why_ the hell not?!”

“I didn’t know how they felt. I didn’t want to jeopardize the friendship I already had with them.”

Giving advice on Beka’s love interest, Yuri felt the oddest sense of disappointment. “So you never told them because you were worried you’d scare them away? You should have just taken the risk.”

“Would you have?”

Yuri felt pinned by the look Otabek shot him, and he didn’t know how to respond. The question felt like being slapped, and he was momentarily stunned into silence. Seconds crawled past, but he couldn’t think of what to say. He eventually murmured something under his breath.

“What was that?” Beka asked lightly.

“I-- it’s--” Yuri wasn’t one to stammer, and he didn’t like how discombobulated his thoughts felt. “I’m going to check on my pants. We should, uhm probably head out for dinner soon.” He clambered to his feet before Otabek could press him further.

***

His jeans hadn’t been completely dry, but regardless he pulled them over his dance tights and dug up an old pair of cheetah print trainers, and insisted that he and Otabek hunt down the restaurant. The building was mostly windows, with a clear view of St. Isaac’s Cathedral. Yuri had eaten there once before with Yakov, but he didn’t remember it being quite so romantic when he’d dined there with his coach.

They arrived shortly before sunset, and watched the light paint the clouds with pink and purple until darkness fell. After their talk of love, Yuri was highly aware of every brush of skin-on-skin, every time Beka’s foot met his under the table. Residual disappointment that Otabek’s heart had been claimed by another was gradually replaced with this glowing hope that maybe, just _maybe_ , he had been talking about the Russian Punk. Because even if Yuri couldn’t quite decipher why Beka’s rare smile made his knees tremble, he wanted him to _want him_.

Because as he realized that their day together was coming to an end, a twinge of panic settled below his ribs.

Because Yuri had been thinking about Otabek for months. Because every time he checked his phone during practice, he hoped to discover a text from his friend. Because he was pretty sure what friendship was supposed to feel like, and he didn’t think it was like _this_.

The food was probably good, but Yuri hadn’t been paying attention. He was too busy trying to memorize every detail of their evening, from the type of wine Otabek ordered to the inviting way he leaned his head on his hand when Yuri spoke.

When they left, it was under a star-spattered night sky.

“Do you have time for one more stop?” Yuri’s eyes lit up when Otabek said yes, and he lead them in the direction of the Moyka river. When the moonlit water came into view, Yuri skimmed Beka’s knuckles with his own, the older boy unfurling his fingers at the contact. An invitation for Yuri to fit his fingers into the spaces between Otabek’s.

Yuri glanced at Beka from behind a curtain of hair. He couldn’t read his expression, but he did see his lips twitch into the faintest smile when Yuri gripped his hand, their palms locking together like puzzle pieces.

Neither mentioned the development as they continued to stroll hand-in-hand along the riverbank. 10 minutes later they came across an iron and granite bridge. Yuri pulled them to a stop at the entrance and tucked them away into the shadow cast by a stone column.

“This is Potseluev Bridge,” Yuri explained, blushing as he said the name: the Bridge of Kisses. “I thought you might like to end the night here.”

Illuminated by nearby streetlamps, Yuri saw Otabek cock an eyebrow. “Oh? Why is that?”

“Well shit, Beka. Just look at the view. And--” he squeezed Otabek’s hand, “there are a lot of urban legends about this place. A couple that kisses on the bridge will have good luck, newlyweds should walk across the bridge kissing, and… if you kiss someone goodbye here, you will definitely meet them again. And...” He trailed off and turned to face Otabek, his cheeks red as he mumbled something incoherent.

“What did you say?”

But he couldn’t say it again.

It had taken every ounce of courage he had to say it at all.

“Yuri?” Otabek grabbed him by the scarf, but the Russian couldn’t meet his prying gaze. “Please.”

“I--” Yuri involuntarily bit back the sentence, the words feeling dangerous and wild behind his teeth. He took a shaky breath. “ _I think I love you_.”

Beka smiled and tucked a strand of hair behind Yuri’s ear. He pulled him closer with a cupped hand, close enough to smell the subtle scent of wine on his breath, and paused. His hovering lips were a question Yuri tentatively answered, a first kiss fit for a fairytale.

Otabek ran his fingers through the length of Yuri’s blond locks, pressing his forehead against Yuri’s when the other pulled away after the infinite moment when their lips touched.

“I love you, too.”

**Author's Note:**

> From the bottom of my heart, thank you for reading the first piece of writing I've finished in 6 years. 
> 
> To the friends and strangers who helped me achieve this: I couldn't have done it without you.


End file.
